


The Senses of Fenris

by ladyoflaurelindorenan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bulges, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Self Prompt, Senses, Sensuality, Sexy, Sound, Taste, Touch, feel, scent, sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 06:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5617345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoflaurelindorenan/pseuds/ladyoflaurelindorenan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My best friend and I decided to challenge ourselves by writing about the senses: taste, touch/feel, smell, sound, and sight. We each centered our writing around a single character and tried to focus specifically on one sense for each section. I find I have a hard time getting descriptive when I write so it was a really helpful prompt. This one focuses on Fenris but about half of it is written from my character Calandriel's perspective. It was also a really great exercise for generating ideas for our main fic, the Origin of Love, and I hope to do more prompts like this in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Senses of Fenris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavenderbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderbee/gifts).



> I wrote this in a sketchbook at work in a short period of time so it's not my best writing.
> 
> Also, contains potential spoilers for The Origin of Love!

I. Scent

As a slave, he’d never known the luxury of using scented soaps and exotic perfumes, though he had been constantly surrounded by them. His master, Danarius, had been fond of spiced scents like cinnamon, sandalwood, and cloves, and as a result, Fenris avoided drinking Chai tea to this day. He found that now that he was in charge of his own hygiene, he loved scents that were subtly sweet, the kind that only someone very close to him would be able to detect. Every day, he bathed with a bar of vanilla soap, taking care to wash his snow white hair so that it would never appear dull. Once freshened up, he would pull on his black leather jacket and pants, which were embedded with the earthy aromas of life on the road. He had gotten used to the smell, but now and again, his nose was awakened to the smoky, woodsy scent of countless bonfires that rested in the leather, the scent of an outlaw.

II. Sight

His eyes were like emeralds embedded within the bronze of his skin. The tanness of it was a testament to his days spent out in the sun. Whether it was his current schedule of camping somewhere for a few days before packing up and moving on again, or the years spent training to become a magister’s bodyguard, it didn’t matter. The markings on his skin were far more noticeable. Starting at his chin, the white striations journeyed down his neck, branching out like the veins of a leaf. He wore black leather from his chest down to his feet, but the markings were underneath his armor, embracing every inch of his body. When angered or moved to great passion, the swirling embellishments would light up and glow a brilliant aquamarine. Unexpected touches would cause him to involuntarily grimace and draw away. He hated the markings--a symbol of his former enslavement--but they were a part of him now. He couldn’t even remember how he’d gotten them, just that it had been excruciating and that it had involved lyrium. The procedure had also affected his hair. It hung down shaggily, draping over his long, pointed ears, the color of ivory. The lyrium had removed all pigment from his hair and he sometimes wondered what color it had been before the ritual. _Probably black_ , he always thought, as his elegantly arched eyebrows had remained the color of obsidian. The blackness complimented his armor, which had been commissioned by his master and was fitted specially for him back in Tevinter. His master had been a cruel one, though he made sure to take care of his assets. He had favored Fenris so much that he had become more than a slave to him, more than a bodyguard. He had become his most valuable possession, using him for his body in more ways than one. Fenris often fought with himself on whether or not he should throw out the fine leathers, but ultimately something always held him back.

III. Taste

Calandriel found herself helplessly pinned against the trunk of an ancient oak. For a brief moment, she felt fearful, then exhilarated. She knew that he would never hurt her, despite the rage that had just overcome him and forced her into this position. His lyrium markings were alive with blue flames, his full, pouting lips stained red with wine. She knew she shouldn’t have said what she did to provoke him, and yet there they were, face to face, his green eyes boring into her silver ones. They gazed at each other intensely for a moment, Fenris’s chest heaving, and then he kissed her. What was once a hostile entrapment became an amorous embrace. His tongue slipped in between her lips and she could taste the winter berries and fermented grapes of the drink he’d been having all evening. To her, there could be no sweeter taste. She pulled him more closely so that her arms wrapped around him and he pressed himself against her, his honeyed tongue searching. 

IV. Touch/Feel

His body was welcomingly warm. Calandriel wondered how someone dressed in so few layers could exude such warmth in this wintry weather. _It must have something to do with the lyrium_ , she thought. His hand moved slowly from the tree that supported her to her face. The metal of his gauntlets was like ice against her cheek but the flesh underneath was just as warm as the rest of him. She could particularly feel the heat emanating from between his legs where a stiff bulge pressed hard against her. She felt a jolt in the pit of her stomach, wanting desperately to know what he looked like without all of that armor on, and wanting to know what it felt like to have him inside of her. 

V. Sound

“Calandriel…”

The sound of her name being called out echoed in her head, haunting her dreams and causing her to start awake. His voice had been so clear; rough like the bark of the tree he’d pressed her against the night they shared their first kiss, but silky and soft as velvet. That was Fenris. Coarse, and yet gentle. She shivered, now becoming more aware of her surroundings. It had been nearly a week since she’d been wrenched from him and her companions and was put here in the dungeons beneath the Circle tower. She clung to the memory of his voice to keep her spirits up. She could hear his awkward laugh every time somebody complimented him. It sounded strained, like he wasn’t even sure how to laugh. She wondered if she would ever hear it again. Would they really only get one kiss?


End file.
